


Snapshots in the life of...

by otaka101



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Crossdressing, Drabbles, Family Issues, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otaka101/pseuds/otaka101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just drabbles of the characters in Kirkwall. Usually first pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots in the life of...

**Author's Note:**

> "This isn't what it looks like I swear!" writing prompt.

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear!”

I wasn’t really expecting it. Sure, he never minded playing with me, Bethany, and Marcia, or got upset when he had to hang around when we did our hair. But I didn’t think he was into this sort of thing. Elbow awkwardly in the air, ties to the corset wrapped around his chest as the skirt twisted around his legs and make-up badly garishly painted on his face, his honey-gold eyes pleaded with me to just leave my room and never bring up this incident ever again.  
With a long suffering sigh, I walk over to him as his struggles increase to escape the dress, looking anywhere but me. I hold up a dagger and let it glint in front of him as I bend over closer. I laugh at his whimper and cut the ties around his chest and get to shearing away the corset and skirt entangled around his body. In a few quick seconds he collapses to the floor in a heap of cloth, powders, and shame. He doesn’t look at me and his eyes are those of a kicked mabari’s. His voice is soft and ashamed, “Do you hate me?”  
I snort and plop down next to him on the floor, setting the dagger back in my pouch and picking up the discarded face paint and putting it a good distance away from his outstretched legs. I take out a hankerchief and begin to wipe at his messy face and large tears. He turns to me once I’m done, eyes wide and lip trembling, “Don’t hate me, please. Please, please, pleas—”  
I poke him in the forehead with a frown and grab the pot of face paint, “Garrett,” I reply, “If you really think I’d hate you for wanting to put on make-up, you obviously don’t have nearly as much faith in me as I do in you.” I twirl the brush in between my fingers and say, “Now,” Color palette in hand I ask, “What colors where you going for?”  
His eyes widen before more tears well up again. They don’t fall and he wears a large loopy grin on his face, “I was going for the smoky look that Isabela has.”  
I tut and lightly begin to paint on his cheeks with light peach colored blush, “I can do that, I’m just going to have to use a different color…”  
I spend nearly an hour painting his blush, applying eye shadow, doing his hair and putting it in a low ponytail with small curls for bangs. After that I dress him in my best robes; they are blue with gold trim sitting around the hips and white fur at the end of the skirt and sleeves, the corset bunches up at his chest and hips, giving him the curves he wants. When he looks in the mirror later, his eyes go wide and bright at his reflection and he covers his mouth in awe.   
“I look…” He trails off speechlessly.  
“You look amazing, Garrett.” I wink at him and hand in hand we walk out of my room and out to the Hightown streets with big goofy grins.


End file.
